The Wedding Gown
by loucassia
Summary: It's Halloween, and somehow, England is freaked out by a fictional 19th-century ghost bride...Or is it a ghost? Warning: Inspired by BBC Sherlock's Christmas special 'The Abominable Bride'. Rated T for language and some light creepy stuff. BBC Sherlock belongs to the BBC, and Hetalia & characters belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.


**Hey everyone!** **It's Lou-chan here~~ I'm back and brought you guys this lovely little drabble. If you read the title, don't get it wrong. There are no weddings. The inspiration for this one-shot came from the Sherlock Christmas special "The Abominable Bride".**

 **So, read on and enjoy! :)**

 **...**

It was Hallow's Eve, or Halloween again. In the bedroom, under a warm light, he silently read one of his favourite novels. Beside his bedside table was a small, empty cup of tea and a plate of warm biscuits' remaining crumbs (obviously, the biscuits were not baked by him).

She was staying over for the weekend, since their bosses advised them to visit each other more often, "to strengthen Anglo-Vietnamese relations", they said. Not wanting to displease them, the two tsunderes had to follow orders.

He let her stay with him in his private penthouse apartment in the central of his capital. She did most of the cooking for him, since she has a silent fear that his cooking might blow up a whole section of Baker Street nearby. There were many afternoon teas, library dates, strolls through the park, e.t.c... And they enjoyed each other's company.

Turns out, they both had a love of books, tea, and Sherlock Holmes. She once told him that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's super-sleuth was the second most famous fictional detective in her country, after a Japanese kid detective named Conan.

Back to reality. He sipped his tea, and continued his novel. His head started to drift off. He started pondering about her.

Long black hair, honey brown eyes, and ivory skin. She was one of the most beautiful female nations he had ever seen. She was shy, quiet, polite, but somehow very headstrong, fierce, and serious. Her personality resembled those of Japan, Canada, Belarus and...him. They were surprisingly similar. They both wore green, and were full of pride, magic, and wit.

Then somehow, the lights went off. He was stuttered, and stopped pondering. _Bloody fuck, Her Majesty paid the electricity bills! What the hell is wrong with the power company? ,_ he thought. He tried to turn on the electricity switch, but it was useless. He looked at the time. It was 10:50 p.m. _Time to go to sleep._

He went to the kitchen to drop off his cup and plate in the sink. When he came back into his bedroom, he saw a big graffiti painted from red paint on the wall. It said "YOU" in capital. He started to suspect that the Bride is actually here. The Abominable Bride. Straight out of Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual". " _Ricoletti of the club foot and his abominable wife" , as Holmes referred ,_ he remembered.

He changed into a combo including a plain purple T-shirt and black sweatpants, and then climbed onto his bed. _Where is she?_ , he wondered, _Is she sleeping?_

Sensing something fishy, he went to her room next door. He knocked three times on the door. No answer. Three more times, still nothing. He opened the door, and turned on his flashlight.

In front of him was her bed. With blood-splattered, wrinkled bedsheets. His worst fear was finally confirmed. The Bride murdered her.

He slowly slumped down on the floor. Tears were already running down his cheeks. He instantly wiped them away. It was actually the first time after many years he actually cried because of someone. _She's dead. What am I supposed to do?_ , he thought.

The British gentleman stood up and sat down onto a nearby armchair. And tried to cry himself to sleep. But it didn't work out really well. Instead, he tried to remember little details about her.

 _She never puts sugar in her tea. She loved flowers, especially the lotus. She takes no bullshit. She liked going to tea houses and cafes. She loved watching horror movies. She hates wearing make-up. And the list goes on and on..._

That wasn't the best idea either. It only made him sadder. But he didn't care. As he struggled to recall, his eyes slowly slumped down. He already felt sleepy, and it was late too. But he's still trying to stay awake no matter what. He just accidentally let someone getting murdered by a fictional character, for goodness sake! There's no way he would let himself get away with it. Not even a chance.

His thoughts were then interrupted by a banging noise. He stood up, looking around the room to see where the noise came from. Then, he reached out to take his flashlight. But it was nowhere to be seen, or felt, in this case.

Out of anxiety and perhaps a little bit of fear, he shouted out, "You murdered my friend. Come out here to show yourself or I will." No answer, but he heard a faint sound of high-heels touching the ground. "I heard you, Mrs. Ricoletti. Show yourself out." Still no answer.

He turned around, trying to find his way through the darkness. For a moment, he thought he was going to be buried in this spiral of madness. But nope. He wasn't. Instead, he felt his spine turn cold. He was basically shaking. _Come on now, England! What happened to the big brother who scared the shit out of little America back in the old days?_ , a little voice inside of him screamed.

A sweet but eerie voice suddenly sang. _"Do not forget me...Do not forget me...The maiden of the mill..."_ He twitched at the sound of it. It was the Bride's song. "Why are you doing this? Why?", he shouted, "Have I wronged you? In anyway?" The ghostly voice replied, " How pathetic of you, young man. Don't you see? The legend you thought that it was just...'fiction' all along...She's still alive and well. And she's me..." An evil chuckle followed.

"So, so you came back from the dead just so you can prove to me that you're _alive_? What did you do to **her**?", he shouted out, secretly panicking. The Bride thought for a moment, and laughed cruelly, " Her? That lady sleeping in the room next to yours? Oh, how lovely a victim she was...You should've heard her shriek. It was music to my ears. I killed her. Because she didn't let me know any information about you. I can still remember that she said she loved you dearly. Before she was dead!"

He was startled for a moment. _She loved me? Dearly?_ , he wondered. But his thoughts were interrupted by the Bride. "Now don't let that poor girl distract you. This is between you and me, my _friend_...", she spat out the word "friend" as if it was poison in her mouth. Then he heard her high-heels stepping closer. He could feel her tattered white lace wedding gown and veil opposite him. He held his breath when he felt a knife on his cheekbones.

Then the Bride said, "Peekaboo." The lights in his apartment finally went back up. And look who's standing just opposite him. The presumed-dead Vietnam. Pulling the veil up to show her well-painted face. She smiled cheekily at him, "I bet 30 million pounds that you _nearly_ screamed like a girl."

His expression was shocked, confused and a bit mad. "YOU NEARLY SCARED ME TO DEATH! DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT?", he yelled in the most gentlemanly way possible in this situation. For her response, she just laughed it off, "Look at your face when I sang that song...It was _sooo_ hilarious...I think I almost died laughing!"

He doesn't know what to say, so he just replied with a bit of a joking tone, " Next year, it's my turn. I bet you will be so scared you will have to beg me for mercy twice." She gave him a "very-sarcastically-impressed" look. "Did you just quoted Irene there? ...Besides, you don't know what I'm even capable of. It might turn out to be _me_ scaring _you_. Again.", she chuckled. She then came closer to him. He was slightly blushing until he saw her secretly struggling with her vintage Victorian low high-heels.

He was _a bit_ taller than her. _So apparently she wants me to lower my height down_ , he thought. Well, you knew what happened next. He lowered himself down until his head was at the same level as hers. Her lips then touched his forehead. "Happy Hallow's Eve, England."

For a moment there, he suddenly had an idea. He then came closer to her and she then walked back until she was in the corner of the wall. He gave her a loving smirk and asked, "So, was everything you said when you were the Bride real? Except for the parts you were taunting me." She almost innocently replied with blushing cheeks, "What part?" "The part when you said you loved me dearly.", he playfully replied.

She replied with her cheeks even more red, slightly angry," W-well, yes- wait- not really...Not you business, b-bastard..." Then he gave her an "It-is-so-obvious" look. Then she sighed. " Yes. I-it's true. Laugh all you want."

His lips formed a little, satisfied smile. "Well then...Will you be my Abominable Bride?"

 **Aaaannnnnddd that's our 3rd oneshot! Well, this took me weeks to finish, but still worth it. Sorry if I'm not that active, y'a know, because of schoolwork and stuff. And I've been procastinating. :v**

 **Hope you guys liked this!**

 **Louise x.**


End file.
